A Collection of Christmas Cheer - HP Fanfiction Drabbles
by SailorSilvanesti
Summary: A series of CHRISTMAS-themed drabbles for requested Pairings (Ronmione, Harmony, Drarry, Nuna, Dramione).
1. Romione (School Age)

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the Associated Characters.**

As a gift to my readers and HP page likers, I am writing several drabbles for you, for various pairings, about Christmas.

Current Pairing Requests: Romione, Harmony, Drarry, Nuna and Dramione.

_**~*MERRY CHRISTMAS*~**_

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**A Collection of Christmas Cheer - HP Fanfiction Drabbles.**

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_**1) Ronmione (Ron & Hermione -School Age)**_

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With a long-suffering sigh, Harry James Potter rolled his eyes behind the black-wire framed glasses, and dropped his head to the old tabletop with an ominous thunk, hair sticking up at odd angles looking for all the world as if he'd been electrocuted overnight. Part of him honestly wished he had been…

Any and all desire to eat of the delicious spread Mrs Weasley had provided for her brood and their friends, most of said hungry hormonal horde yet to amble down to the breakfast feast, had dissipated the very moment Ron and Hermione had gigglingly taken their place across from him.

The secret smiles, embarrassed blushes and tentative handholding accompanied by awkward giggling -that, the Chosen One could deal with… it was when they started to feed each other little bits of this and that… that's where he drew the line.

Part of him hoped that he and Ginny never had, and never-would, end up doing something so sickeningly sweet and schmoopy that onlookers ended up with an odd taste in their mouths, you know the one… like children's sherry cough syrup.

It wasn't until a bread bun bounced off his head that he jerked upright to find both his best friends staring at him with concerned expressions. He rolled his eyes, of course, neither of them would have any idea how horrifyingly adorable a scene they were making… ever since Ron had woken up in the hospital wing with Hermione holding his hand instead of Lavender, that had been it; there had not been a moment's peace from then on.

Having to be the third-wheel even during classes was a new and decidedly awful experience, especially when the majority of Professors made him sit between the pair, like some sort of living barricade. Sighing dramatically once more, he waved a hand in a non-committal gesture and said, 'You were doing it again…'

Ron went almost as scarlet as his hair, 'Oh… sorry mate.' he mumbled out, eagerly snatching at a full piece of toast and jamming it in his mouth to avoid further awkwarding up the conversation. Hermione just rolled her eyes and offered a supposedly apologetic smile, that ended up coming off her angelic face as a little less apologetic… and somewhat more smug.

Both of them knew that ever since the Twins had booby-trapped the house with Mistletoe, Harry and Ginny had been deliberately relegated to opposite ends of the house under Mrs Weasley's hawk-like scrutiny. Whereas they had been taking full advantage of the sudden appearance of the plant in doorways, on light fixtures, hanging off trees outside in the garden, attached to a garden gnome…

Okay, so Fred and George might have gone a bit overboard with their ambushing mistletoe charm, but they were honestly trying to do both the younger couples in the house a favour… their mother's consternation regarding their underlying intentions, notwithstanding.

Speaking of the identical trouble-makers and masterminds of several dozen of Hogwarts' most memorable pranks…

Twin sets of footsteps thudded down the stairs in unison, a third lighter set echoing behind, then stopping altogether. A loud, 'Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!' was followed by cries of, 'Good Idea, Gin!' and 'Last one down has to snog Percy in front of Fudge!'

"YOU THREE HAD BETTER NOT BE ON MY BANNISTERS!" shouted Mrs Weasley, startling even Mr Weasley away from his special Christmas edition of The Daily Prophet long enough to smile fondly at his offspring's antics, before returning to whatever fascinating editorial had caught his eye.

The trio of flushed, stupidly-grinning faces trudged into the room, trying and failing to instil expressions of innocence on their features before simply giving up and pecking their mother on the cheek in apology. Mrs Weasley waved them off with her wooden spoon, gesturing without words that they should sit and eat while there was still food left.

If they didn't hurry, Charlie and Bill would be up and devouring everything on the table before anyone else got a look in; even Percy could be counted on to demolish a feast like that set before them, in a matter of minutes. Must be something in the Weasley blood, Harry thought.

Co-incidentally, after much apologising for being a gigantic twat, 'Perfect Percy' would be joining them sometime later for Lunch or maybe Dinner… depending on which magical crises arose over the course of the day.

Apparently a lot of magical persons decided that Christmas was the time to experiment with different celebratory spells, usually the kind that backfires spectacularly; and Percy had swung work duty over Christmas. Honestly, Harry was kind of pleased that the older boy wouldn't be there until after the presents had all been handed out, it might be a bit awkward otherwise…

And besides, it's easier to deal with a semi-unwanted guest when no one has to talk to them, mouths all full of food and cutlery clinking off plates with gusto.

A second bun bounced off his head, this time the projectile coming from a more Ginny-oriented direction; jerking attention over to where the youngest Weasley was emphatically waggling her eyebrows at him.

"Ooooh, looks like someone's going to get a good gift from sweet little Ginny-kins this year…" cooed Fred… no wait, George -one day he'd work out which was which while in motion- from behind him. An arm was slung over his shoulders to prevent escape by sliding off his chair and under the table where he could probably crawl to safety… away from Mrs Weasley's death-dealing glare… and all the pointy objects the well-stocked kitchen boasted.

For her part, Ginny was glaring daggers at the pair, cheeks flushed bright red in horror at the insinuation. Completely accidentally, Ron diffused the tension by letting out a loud snort of amusement and rolling his eyes at Hermione; who laughed and tossed a sausage at the Keeper, who ducked at the last second, so it ended up on Ginny's lap.

She squealed and fell off her chair… and it devolved from there.

By the time Bill and Charlie had finally crawled downstairs, rubbing at bleary eyes and staring in horrified fascination at the chaos… a full-blown food-WAR had begun in earnest. Only truly tapering down when a pancake somehow sailed over the top of Mr Weasley's Daily Prophet and whapped into his face, smearing slowly down to his plate and leaving a nice trail of sticky maple syrup in it's wake.

The room froze, several of the occupants still with delectable weaponry in hand, as the paper lowered.

After a lengthy pause where even Mrs Weasley's reprimands towards the twins had fallen into silence, Arthur cleared his throat, darted a tongue out to lick at the sticky mess coating the majority of his face, and commented, 'Lovely throw, Hermione, dear… but could you possibly toss on of the ones with Strawberry jam on it next time?'

Surprise flitted across many a face for several seconds, before various occupants of the room burst into raucous laughter, dropping whatever potential projectiles were in their hands and beginning to clean themselves up.

Hermione gigglingly pulled a piece of bacon out of Ron's hair, he swiped at some whipped cream on her nose… aaaaaaaand, like that, they were back to being the most sickeningly adorable couple in the room in seconds. Even Fred and George decided not to look directly at pair, though Ginny's wistful expression clearly read that she perhaps found it adorable in a teen romance novel sort of way…

He really needed to convince her to stop reading Teen Witch… not only was it full of utter tripe like 'How to Make your Witch or Wizard Fall for You without Resorting to Love Potions!' and '20 Charms That Can Determine If You're An Adorable Couple!', but they kept publishing odd, and rather disturbing articles about him without his permission.

That competition to guess what kind of tattoo he had and WHERE was completely out of line (thankfully Mrs Weasley sent them a Howler in response to such a blatant disregard of a minor's privacy… and they immediately recalled the issue it was in. Harry thinks they're living in fear she'll march in there and ground them all or something… but he's glad she's on his side, mostly).

With a deep breath, Mrs Weasley seemingly mustered all her remaining maternal calm, opened her eyes and smiled brightly. "Alright, you messy creatures… everyone into the living room and we'll do presents, as soon as you've made sure your part of the table is spotless, mind!"

Ron and Hermione were already trotting into the next room, when they paused in the doorway, glancing up and giggling; Harry almost didn't need to look to know that there was obviously some levitating Mistletoe hovering about their heads. There was legitimately no door or archway in the house that wasn't booby-trapped to go off if two or more persons crossed under them in close proximity or at the exact same time.

…it had lead to some extraordinarily awkward moments between Harry and various members of the Weasley family over the last few days. Especially the time Fred and George wouldn't let him get away from their tentacle-like embrace-slash-ambush, until they'd planted simultaneous sloppy pecks to his embarrassment-flushed cheeks…

Mrs Weasley eventually chasing the pair off by flourishing her broom at them.

Now there was a memory he'd bring up with a Therapist, twenty or thirty years from now… but right now, having cleaned his area, all he really wanted was to get through the doorway. Which his two best friends in the entire world were blocking because they refused to stop being sickeningly sweet and coupley.

If Voldemort didn't kill him in the next few minutes, over-exposure to adorableness just might…

He huffed out a sigh, and wondered if either of them knew what a spectacle they were making. Honestly, he never expected Ron to willing hold hands with someone, much less make schmoopy faces at them… but Hermione was special; well, duh, he knew that already. Hermione was this glorious bastion of all that was gorgeous and brilliant, all crammed into this teenager shaped package… but she had this way about her that just kind of urged you to go along with what she wanted.

Then again, she too was different in love, then how Harry had imagined her… even in that brief fling with Krum in fourth year, she'd never had the look she sported now; the blushes and giggles were different too. The same… but different.

Was that even possible…?

Probably. He'd ask Hermione later…

He blinked the ceiling -and the subsequent floating piece of mistletoe in it's festive red bow- back into focus, only to realise he'd been zoning out while staring, for quite some time if the looks he was garnering from Ron and Hermione were anything to go by. His tongue stumbled over itself as if drunk, as he fumbled for words, 'Oh, er… uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….'

Nothing came to mind.

"Eloquent as always, I see, Harry…" Hermione smiled, slipping an arm around his back and leaning into his left side.

Ron just sort of stared for a minute, before half-punching him in his free shoulder, and beaming as he intoned, "You idiot… if you wanted a smooch, you should have said so!" and pounced at him playfully as Hermione suddenly became like an anchor… that apparently also had tickling capabilities.

The Trio landed on the floor, giggling and flailing limbs as Harry valiantly fought of the half-hearted attempts of his taller friends, and ultimately failing as Hermione got him on the cheek somewhat sweetly. While Ron's attempt ended up as a sort of smear-by smooch on his right cheek… that he loudly, and melodramatically, protested; leaving the Chosen One vigorously scrubbing at the trail of slobber with a shirt-sleeve, simultaneously wheezing from lack of enough air to fuel his giggle fit.

Eventually, he got free and groaned, "Why am I even friends with you two?" rolling up and onto his feet. Offering both Ron and Hermione a hand up the minute he was steady enough not to crash back down onto them…

"Well, given your choice was between us or Mouldy-Voldy, I'd say you chose the better option…" Ron snarked back affectionately, then clapped his hands together. "Right, PRESENTS!" and disappeared into the living room.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Alright, present time…" he suddenly fixed Hermione with a serious expression that made her pause, mid-step. "I'll go in there… but you'd better not have gotten each other matching jumpers or something, or… well, I'm either going to hurl rainbows, or get really jealous…"

She let out a peal of laughter that was belied by the sudden appearance of a guilty expression on her face… the Brightest Witch of Her Age beat a hasty retreat into The Burrow's living room, not daring to look back.

As it turned out, they HAD gotten matching sweaters, with unicorns on them…

…but the real dilemma of the evening came when Harry suddenly realised he couldn't seem to decide if it was better or worse that they'd also gotten him one…

'Ah well,' he thought, slipping it over his head and grinning like a moron, 'At least they'd have a good conversation starter next time they faced Voldemort…'

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**THE END**

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To be Fair, it was written in a hurry... so it isn't brilliant.

But, whatever...**_ Merry Whatever-You-Celebrate_**, more to come.

~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~


	2. Romione (Older)

**Disclaimer: I do not Own Harry Potter or any of the associated characters.**

Another Romione Request: 'Older'.

**~*MERRY CHRISTMAS*~**

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**2) Ronmione (Ron & Hermione - Older)**

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It was almost a cliche, she thought, gazing about the room filled to the brim with various items of Christmas-ical intent. At least, that's how Ron had put it earlier when he'd had a rather one-sided argument with the Christmas tree and lost, spectacularly, as it toppled over to land on him… twice.

She winced at the memory, it had been somewhat her fault…

To be fair, other things had monopolised her attention at the time that he's valiantly attempted to hoist the faux-greenery upright; and made certain that she forgot to warn Ron that one of the legs on the tree's stand was, well, wonkier than a grundschwap's left elbow talon.

An accident from last year, when they'd been packing away everything, that she may or may not have forgotten to mention (that perhaps involved a little too much eggnog of the alcoholic variety, and not enough supervision to stop her from using the stand to beat the rug with, which had seemed a grand idea at the time).

Ah well, he had survived the experience… although it was a little bit more than simply his pride that had been bruised this time around.

Harry was never going to believe Ron had lost a fight with a stationary object… well, not-so-stationary object… she chuckled to herself, eyes gazing absently into the fireplace where flames danced cheerily like a wild pantomime for her eyes only.

Outside, snow was falling in soft blankets, coating everything in a delightful way that reminded her of brisk winter days at Hogwarts… how the white powder would coat the castle as if it were some sort of tableau scene from the inside of a snowglobe.

Breath-taking, really.

A pang of nostalgia filled her to the core for the merest breath, a strong desire to return to the hallowed halls -newly refurbished since the battle- where everything changed; where their names had become whispered, nay venerated, legend. It was so very silly… you help defeat a Dark Lord, one time...

Still, it helped to keep the students in-line… a healthy balance of awe, hero-worship and fear in their eyes as she walked into each class, from wide-eyed and whispering First Years, to the respectful and somehow still awestruck Seventh Years. Ron always said it was a combination of the legend following her name, and who she was… said some nonsense about her radiating a sense of authority, like a goddess…

Who knew the boy who had once tried to ask her to a Ball with the swoon-inducingly tantalising line, 'So, Hermione… you're a girl...', would grow up to be a man that always seemed to know the right thing to whisper in her ear to set a pleasant blush of embarrassment racing across her cheeks…?

Or maybe it was his warm breath on the back of her neck?

She shivered a little, a little ripple that tingled from one end of the body to the other, and had nothing to do with the cold; not that she could be cold at this point in time. Mrs Weasley had thoughtfully knitted her another sweater in the interim between the announcement, and Christmas… giving it to her early, so she and… well… so they wouldn't be cold.

The soft pink jumper felt like it must have been woven from the clouds themselves, and not in a single place did it itch, like wool was wont to do on occasion…

Originally, it had been a little too big, but… as she absent-mindedly stroked over her growing bump, she realised Mrs Weasley had made it just the right size… that woman was a miracle worker, honestly.

Delicious scents of cooked meats and potatoes wafted into the room from the kitchen where Ginny and George were busy bustling about, refusing to let her do a single thing this year -although she highly suspected it was, once again, Mrs Weasley's influence.

Bill and Fleur were out grabbing a few necessary things for little Victorie, whose teething ring had somehow gotten misplaced amongst the madness of holiday packing; and Charlie was in-bound from somewhere foreign -somehow managed to get himself cursed, meaning that his only option to get here on-time was to catch a Muggle plane.

Apparently, thanks to whatever ancient evil laid the trap the second-oldest Weasely had fallen into, all attempts at apparition tended to have some horrifying side-effects… splinching was the least of the Cursed's worries… at least, that's what St Mungos had said, and none of them wanted to take any chances; not even side-along apparition.

Percy had already been dispatched to get him from the Airport, although the flight wouldn't be in for another forty-five minutes. Hermione had tried to brief him on how Departure and Arrival gates worked, and who to ask for help in locating the right one.. but figured that if he couldn't work it out and panicked, then someone there would probably take pity on him.

If not, she'd send Harry to save them, whenever he and Ron re-appeared, that is.

A strong desire for chocolate ripple ice-cream, despite the weather, had seen the two scrambling out the door at double-time. Oh, not for them, of course… Hermione smiled to herself, but a certain bun in the oven had decided to remind Mummy-to-Be that crushed-candy canes, choc-ripple ice-cream and french fries was the only thing they wanted right now.

Almost the second the words left her mouth, part of a half-formed thought born of distracted snow-watching, the pair were gone… dashing outside into the cold, white world towards the car... before sheepishly slinking back inside seconds later to snatch jackets and car-keys they'd left behind.

A smile formed on her lips, even after all this time, she was still the brains of their little Golden Trio -as people had come to call them; though she'd never say that to their faces…

Ginny was calling out something about gravy, and not to touch something… then there was a loud 'whack' followed almost immediately by a strangled yelp. George came slinking out of the kitchen, looking for all the world like a sad puppy…

She laughed and tossed a candy cane at him, "Cheer up, it's Christmas!"

He brightened immediately, shucking off the plastic wrapping and managing to speak around the sugared sweet in his mouth as he marched across her living room, "Ah, Hermione, you always know how to cheer a lad up, don't you?"

George grabbed her hands gently, mock-bowed and began to take oddly-rhythmic steps to some dance or other, based on music that was clearly in his head… she laughed, tugged back for a moment, then joined in when he began to hum to give her some sense of what time-signature they were dancing to.

Life with the Weasley family constantly in it had changed only a little after the Battle, the hole that Fred left was almost healed… but still raw enough around the sealing edges that no one poked too harshly. Bill had taken to his little monthly problem with the same calm optimism that he handled everything else; and Fleur didn't mind in the least.

Ginny and Harry occasionally became a little overbearing in their affections towards one another, but they were still in the Honeymoon phase, so it was something to be expected… or at the very least, tolerated. Ron often bemoaned the fact that they had never been that mushy-gushy…

A fact that his siblings only too-gleefully refuted, stating they were TWICE as bad!

She often found her cheeks burning at the insinuation, finding nothing in her memories to suggest correlating evidence with their recollections of their own Honeymoon period, but then again… rose-tinted glasses were a thing for magic and muggle folk alike. They probably had been insufferable… but at no point had they stooped to baby-talking, or nick-names.

Well, not in public…

"Ve are 'ere!" came the melodious voice of Fleur as she strode through the front door, a heavily-swaddled little Victorie in her arms and a small shopping back bearing a baby-store brandname on it's side, dangling from the crook of her left elbow. "Zey only 'ad ones with silly faces, but per'aps she is too young to be upset by zis, yes?"

Hermione nodded thoughtfully over George's shoulder, which seemed to be the right response, and Fleur continued into the house. Well, it was technically Hermione and Ron's home, but seeing as it was their turn to host Christmas festivities this year (it really wasn't, they should be at Bill and Fleur's this time, but no one wanted to make Hermione travel any great distance at this stage of pregnancy… and Mrs Weasley would have a fit if she had tried to apparate anywhere) everyone was staying with them.

The house was big enough, a clever undetectable extension charm here, some muggle-proofing there… and suddenly you had a house big enough for twenty guests to stay simultaneously!

"Would you believe what we found while we were out?" called Bill, apparently dragging Ron and Harry with him as he stepped inside and shut the door against the cold. "Someone forgot to put enough antifreeze in the engine, and the car decided to have a spectacular meltdown half-way across town."

"N-n-n-not ou-our f-f-f-f-fault, st-stu-stupid M-Muggle contra-contra-contraptio-... things!" Ron stammered, shuffling over to Hermione with a bag that looked to contain the longed-for ice-cream treat. "Alwa- Always n-n-needing s-s-omething different, n-never hav-have to put antifr-freeze in a br-broom!"

Hermione laughed, releasing George, who immediately started dancing with a cold and rather bewildered Harry…

She pecked her husband on the cheek, "Thank you for getting me this, I don't know why I want it… but I do…" she glanced in the bag at the tub of her frozen treat, smiling broadly. "I'm going to need a spoon."

"And probably some of these, too!" replied Ginny, striding into the room with a bowl of fresh-from-the-oven french fries and a large metal spoon. "See, this is why I was making them, not for you you giant greedy guts!" she directed at George, who eyed the spoon warily.

Hermione slipped him a few chips when Ginny's back was turned, and he slunk off to enjoy ambushing some other random family member into his imaginary dance competition or whatever that was before. Harry, now released due to the commotion, followed Ginny into the kitchen to see if he could lend a hand and saying something about their collective parents arriving soon enough…

Bill made an off-hand comment about Mr Weasley and her parents stopping off for drinks on the way here, before slipping into the corridor that led to the bedrooms, where Fleur was obviously trying and failing to soothe a fussy, wailing Victorie.

She glanced to the clock, noting that at this point Charlie's flight should have lande-... and there was the phonecall she'd been waiting for. "Hello?" she said in a voice used mainly to calm homesick first-years, listening patiently as Percy flipped out on the other end, lost somewhere near Departure gate 106, and not sure what to do.

Having used that very airport several times, going on holidays with her parents over Christmases past, she managed to calm the third-eldest Weasley down and give him generally accurate directions to Arrival Lounge 47.

He hung up moments later, having spotted Charlie and promising to pick her up some Butterbeer on the way home.

She preened a moment, laughing internally at the fact she somehow became the Weasley-whisperer somewhere along the way… and then decided to snuggle into the armchair nearest the fire. Her tired ankles letting her know just how much they appreciated the very millisecond she placed them on the footrest…

For a while, Hermione mixed her mad concoction of chocolate, candy canes and chips, savouring the flavour until it became almost unbearable and she had to put it down or risk being too full for Dinner later. Someone came and took it away, but she didn't see who… too busy staring into the calming flames of the fireplace and wondering on what the future held.

How odd it is that Christmas is a time that invokes such thoughts and dreams… she mused, languidly.

All too soon, she started to doze, listening to the bustling preparations for Christmas Dinner and thinking about the impending arrival of the rest of the family. Well, all that would be coming this year, she smiled, hand resting on her bump…

Soon.

There was something about a Weasley Family Christmas that had to be seen to be believed… but spectacular to experience, and Hermione couldn't think of any better tradition to pass on to their little-one-to-be than this.

She fell asleep content in the knowledge that when Ron or Ginny came to gently wake her in a few hours, everyone would be here, the table set, and nothing would be on fire.

...hopefully.

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**THE END**

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Another little request for Christmas, I shall work on the other ten at a time that is not past 3am in the wang-dang-doodle morning.

Wrote it in a rush of plotlessness, please let me know if there were any mistakes or issues.

Goodnight, hope you like it.

~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~


	3. HarmonyHarmione (School Age)

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the associated characters.

Requested Pairing: Harmony/Harmione

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**~*MERRY CHRISTMAS*~**

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**3) Harmony (Harry/Hermione - School Age)**

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"Are you absolutely sure about this, Hermione?" he asked for possibly the hundredth time in the last twenty minutes, much to the other Gryffindor's continuing frustration.

She huffed, gathered the last remnants of her patience, and slowly closed the large, dusty tome she'd borrowed out from the library over break. "Harry, for the very last time, it's FINE… my parents are positively thrilled at the idea of you spending Christmas with us, especially after the time they met the Dursleys…"

There was a momentary pause.

"Actually, they just about adopted you on the spot after twenty minutes in the presence of your insufferable uncle. I can't see why you haven't just jinxed him with something malicious and lingering, and run off to join the magical circus… I certainly would have!" she said vehemently, long wavy hair bouncing as she executed a sharp nod to punctuate the statement.

Harry clutched at his heart melodramatically, eyes wide behind the thick, black, wire frames as he flopped onto his back like a fish. "Did… did Miss Hermione 'We-Might-Get-Killed-or-Worse-Expelled!' Granger, just suggest I use not only magic on a muggle, but some sort of dark, retributive, probably illicit curse on my Uncle?" he stated over-incredulously, taking a nearby cushion to the face for his troubles.

"Oh, don't be so awful about it! Yes, alright… I'll admit that man makes me want to apparate him into a volcano, and that chubby cousin of yours too… so rude!" An indignant expression crossed her face, "He also tried to chat me up… at least, I assume that's what was happening… even with the Time-turner in third year I still never managed to slot in taking the Troll languages course."

This seemed to be a point of great sadness to the Brightest Witch of their Age, but Harry simply couldn't stop laughing at the wistfulness he saw in her eyes over the lost opportunity to learn how to fluently grunt and point.

Hermione sighed in exasperation and dropped her head onto the cover of the book she held, completely obscured by a wash of brilliant wavelets, and mumbling something about 'boys' and 'expanding horizons outside of flatulence charms', that he just KNEW was directed at him.

Before he could respond, a distraction in the form of a pyjama-clad Ron plonked down beside him on the floor; the opposite side to where Hermione was stretched out on the rug of the surprisingly-empty Gryffindor Common Room. Then again, this time of year a lot of students left early for various reasons, and even more were currently in the Hospital Wing for some new strain of flu that some unsupervised third-years accidentally created in Potions (rather than the 'Forgetful Elixir they were supposed to be brewing), that was apparently resistant to even the strongest of Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up Potions.

It was sort of surreal, actually.

Gryffindor Common Room was rarely ever quiet, muted at best; always full of bustling bodies, chatter and conversations, the scratch of quill on parchment and the slick twap of misappropriated Quaffle meeting the skin of someone's palms (or various other body parts, let's face it, not everyone has brilliant hand-eye co-ordination). But right now, it was almost devoid of life, a pair of Fourth years quietly reading a textbook at a corner table and a tiny little First Year who was blinking rapidly and avidly attempting not to fall asleep in her chair by the cheery fireplace, the room's only other occupants.

Completely unselfconscious after many years of living with a dozen or so other people who all regularly vied for parental attention just on value of being the loudest speaker at the time, Ron broke the stillness by turning to Harry and asking, "So, all ready to go then, eh, 'Chosen One'?"

Continuing on before Harry could even get a word out edgewise. "Mum sent an owl just before, said to make certain you have a warm top, and your jumper, oh and clean socks! There was a whole paragraph about undies and socks and all that… she's just concerned about you, it's your first real vacation I suppose, and Mum always wants to make certain all her boys are well-equipped to handle anything. Though how clean knickers will help if you come face-to-face with a another mountain troll, 'm not exactly sure…"

He shrugged noncommittally, "Ah well, suppose you can just shove 'em right on up his nose if you have to… worked a real treat last time, didn't it?"

Harry elbowed the red-head in the ribs awkwardly, for that reminder of something he'd rather forget, but beamed anyway… he sort-of owed that Mountain Troll (and in a weird, round-a-bout way, Quirrell himself) everything. Without it, he would never have become friends with Hermione… he'd probably not even have survived First Year without her (and Ron) helping him fight off Voldemort himself…

And even if he had, Second Year's basilisk could have killed him with a stare if she hadn't worked it out… never have rescued Sirius in Third, or survived the Tri-Wizard Tournament in Fourth…

Then again, the same thing could be said for Ron; without the other boy, Harry would be lost… he was as much an important fixture in his life as Hermione. Then again, he wasn't about to go sneaking about in the middle of the night to swap secret kisses with the admittedly-attractive redhead, silently praying that McGonagall didn't catch them out of bed…best mate or not. No, that illicit activity was reserved for one very special person in his life… and she was sprawled out by his left side, watching in amusement as these thoughts obviously flitted across his face… or possibly because she'd discovered a spell to read minds.

Anything was possible with Hermione. 'Impossible' was a cute way of saying she hadn't turned her full attention to the issue, just yet…

Clearing his throat, the Seeker made a great show of rolling his eyes and stretching, "YES, Ron, you can urgently owl your mother that I have packed a sufficient amount of clean undergarments and socks… and everything else I need for my Holiday with the Grangers."

Hermione poked the redhead with her ink-stained quill-tip, causing Ron to yelp indignantly and swat it away from the hand-knitted maroon jumper adorned with a golden 'R'; he was fiercely protective of it this year after the one gifted two Christmases ago was mauled by some incredibly aggressive SnapDragons in Herbology last year. She smirked, kicking her legs back and forth in the air, like small children tend to do when lying on the floor…

"You can always come with us, you know… it's not an exclusive 'Harry-only' invitation, my parents love you too. Wouldn't it be fun to spend Christmas with us in an exotic place that wasn't Egypt, for once?" she prodded, eyes wide and earnest. They'd asked him more than once, but at first Ron had waved off the offers… then laughed maniacally after that, and finally settled for politely declining their offers with rolled eyes.

"You know I'd love to Hermione, and Mum said it would be fine… but there's not a merperson's chance in a net, that I want to get stuck halfway around the world in a tiny cabin, watching you two make trauma-inducing googly-eyes at one another for two months. So, thanks… but no, not this time… maybe next year, somewhere with side open spaces I can run screaming across when you two start with the pet-names…" a shudder rippled through Ron at the words, like he'd just seen something rather traumatic; or imagined it.

"Well," he said, getting up in a surprisingly fluid motion given the gangly limbs they were, all three, sporting at this point in time. "I'm going to bed… and I think McGonagall's gonna come a little early tonight, she was really tetchy in Transfiguration today, she's tired… which means she'll be by in about ten minutes. Goodnight… see you at breakfast."

He trudged away silently, pausing only to push the First-Year student dozing dangerously close to the edge of the armchair she was curled up on, more firmly back in place upon the item of furniture, and then continued towards the stairs, confident in the knowledge that McGonagall would sort her out later.

When Harry turned back to Hermione, noting the heavy white flakes falling dimly outside the darkened window behind her head, she was mid-yawn and trying to cover it with an ink-blotted hand. He laughed softly, "Well, I don't know about you… but I'm all packed and ready for tomorrow, so maybe we should call it a night. Wouldn't want to have to have your parents carry us off the train because we fell asleep or something equally as silly…"

The Grangers would be meeting them on Platform 9 & ¾ tomorrow night, alongside the Weasleys who would be awaiting their home-bound brood. Harry felt a little guilty he and Hermione weren't spending Christmas with them this year, but Mrs Weasley had told him at school break (when the idea for the over-Christmas trip was originally proposed by Hermione's smiling parents) not to be silly, that this was a chance to explore the world and he should take it!

And reminded him that there was always next year…

…while simultaneously eyeing the pair of them in a way that said she was mentally measuring both he and Hermione for their Christmas Jumpers -which was good, he'd grown several inches too big for last year's one, at this point.

Hermione carefully packed away the parchment, quill, ink-bottle and ancient tome she'd been reading and copying out various little notes from; standing up slowly, stretching every inch of stiffness from her body as best she could.

He followed suit, more slowly because, as it turned out… his left foot had fallen asleep; leaving the great and much-vaunted Harry Potter hopping about jiggling it mid-air until the pins-and-needles sensation of re-awakening allowed him to finally put weight on it again. He snapped back to full awareness to realise that he'd been softly singing, '…left foot out, you put your left foot in and shake it all about…' much to the wide-eyed surprised of the half-awake, studying fourth-years still at the corner table.

"Very dignified," Hermione smiled, much amused by his antics; holding off going to bed momentarily as she awaited her goodnight kiss from her apparently hokey-pokey mad boyfriend.

He quickly pressed a chaste kiss to her lips and proceeded to make as dignified an exit from the room as physically possible, given he'd just been re-enacting a muggle children's song and dance that had been ingrained in him sometime in preschool. Harry would make up for it tomorrow, maybe ask the House Elves to make her something special for breakfast or something (they refused to let him do cooking after what is only whisperingly referred to as 'the Valentines Day Incident)… for now, the soft brush of her fingers against his as they stood at the bases of both staircases, was enough.

They turned simultaneously and retreated towards respective dormitories for sleep, knowing the following day would be full of travel, excitement and not a little tiring for the intrepid teens.

One thing he knew for certain, as he entered his dorm room on silent feet trying not to wake the already-slumbering Ron (the only other inhabitant left in the small room at this time of year), laying his glasses on the bedside table and sliding under the red-themed covers… not a moment too soon.

McGonagall's footsteps could be heard echoing up the flight of stairs to their dorm, on her nightly head-count rounds…

Surprisingly, he found his mind full of images and excitement about the upcoming holiday, already lulling him to sleep…

_How had he not noticed being this tired before? _

Harry wondered, yawning softly and curling into a little ball of warmth under the covers as Ron mumbled something about '_chocolate_' and '_no Fred, not the Flying monkeys'_. The creaking bed springs echoing like fireworks in the silence as he turned over somewhere to Harry's right in the sudden darkness… the only illumination a sliver of waning moonlight through a snow-covered window.

By the time Professor McGonagall had cracked open the door, he was already asleep…

* * *

**THE END**

**~)0(~**

* * *

You guys would tell me if it seemed stupid or excessively cheesy, right?

Another one down, more to come.

[I did mean to pot this last night, but apparently the servers went down, 503 error and all that joy.]

**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


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